Which suit are you planning on wearing tonight?
by Easnadh
Summary: (Spoiler warning) Starting at the beginning of season 3, with the aftermath of Oliver and Felicity's date. The title is a line from season 2, which I'm using here to reference Oliver's identity crisis - the theme of season 3 and also the theme of this fic. So this is my take on the beginning of season 3 (based on promos/spoilers). Enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

_(Spoiler warning) Starting at the beginning of season 3, with the aftermath of Oliver and Felicity's date. The title is a line from season 2, which I'm using here to reference Oliver's identity crisis - the theme of season 3 and also the theme of this fic. So this is my take on the beginning of season 3 (based on promos/spoilers). Enjoy!_

_Felicity…_

She could hear her name being called, somewhere in the distance. It sounded strange, as if she were hearing it through a dense fog, or from behind a thick curtain. She wondered if she was dreaming.

_Felicity…_

It drifted towards her again, through the haze, slightly louder than before. She thought it might be Oliver, sounding the syllables of her name in the way only he could.

_Oliver._

She tried answering, but her voice drifted away from her, getting lost somewhere between her mind and her breath. She wondered at that, but any trace of concern was washed away by her dream, her thoughts drowned in the gentle numbness that was coursing through her. Felicity smiled, allowing herself to float serenely in the soft reddish haze surrounding her, savouring the comfort of her dream-state. It occurred to her that there was something she should remember, something important, but she was reluctant to concentrate on fears or worries. Instead she let herself drift, cradled in an unfamiliar sensation of warmth and love.

_Love_. That word triggered something, a memory perhaps, of Oliver. He was standing awkwardly before her, unable to meet her eyes. She remembered thinking it was strange then, how he had shifted from side to side, shoulders stiff with tension and face oddly flushed.

"Oliver," she had said, not bothering to pretend she didn't notice, "are you ok?"

He had pulled himself together then, meeting her gaze resolutely, and the words that came out of his mouth were the last she had ever expected to hear.

"Felicity, would you like to go out to dinner with me?"

She must have said yes, because all she could see after that was his smile; a smile that seemed to not only reach his eyes, but his heart as well. But that was unthinkable, wasn't it? Still, she had felt loved then, enveloped in the warmth of that smile, just as she felt loved now. She sank further into the fog, her own smile deepening, wishing she could hold onto that feeling forever.

Pain struck her, rising through the mists and jolting her from her bliss. She moaned, feeling the breath leaving her body through lungs that burned, pain shooting across her chest.

_Felicity!_

Oliver's voice was closer now, and more urgent. He sounded afraid, terrified even, and she called to him instinctively. She couldn't tell if he heard, but suddenly his hands were on her, brushing across her chest, her torso, grasping her arms. He gripped her tightly, lifting her, and the pain that ripped through her body forced a scream from her lungs that swept away the last wisp-like traces of her dream.

"Felicity! Felicity, I'm sorry." His voice was so clear now, so close, and it hurt her to hear the anguish there. "Felicity, open your eyes, _please_."

She tried, she really did, but her body failed her, her eyelids weighted down with an exhaustion she couldn't overcome. She felt Oliver shift, and with the fresh surge of pain came the cool press of his palm on her cheek; but then she was gone again, to another time, or perhaps to another dream.

She was in a corridor now, white and bare, and Oliver was there because, somehow, he was always there. She realised they were in a hospital but, for once, no one was hurt and no one was suffering. She met Oliver's eyes and saw her own happiness reflected there, and with it something else; something honest and pure that took her breath away and made her heart thud in her chest. His hands were on her face then, too, and he was pulling her closer, gently but insistently, and she was letting him, closing the distance between them herself. He was saying something, his breath brushing against her face, but all she could think of was the sensation of his fingertips stroking her skin, and his mouth growing ever closer to hers. She thought he said he loved her, but then their lips touched and she was lost again. The red fog claimed her and she surrendered to it, clinging on to the beautiful sensation of being loved, suddenly and inexplicably afraid that she was about to lose it forever.

* * *

><p>When Felicity woke up she was lying on the cold, hard med table in the Foundry. Oliver was gone. Instead, her eyes finally cracked open to meet Diggle's worried gaze. The pain was less demanding now, and she could feel the medication she had been given clouding her thoughts. Reaching her hand to her throbbing head, she shifted, trying to sit up. Even though she braced herself for the pain, the agony shooting across her ribs made her gasp aloud.<p>

"Take it easy," Diggle murmured, his large hand pressing her gently back towards the table. "Looks like you cracked a few ribs."

Felicity nodded, eyes skirting uselessly around the room. She knew he wasn't there. The question formed on the tip of her tongue but she bit it back, suddenly afraid of the answer.

"There was an explosion," she said instead, "we were… in the restaurant and something exploded."

The word 'date' hovered at the back of her mind, but she was suddenly reluctant to say it, as if voicing that word would mean that she would have to confront the intense, instinctive feeling of dread that was threatening to overwhelm her. _Why wasn't he there? _Felicity's thoughts went back over the past few days, over the memories she had just vividly relived. Except now, with reality staring her in the face, she thought of her happiness distantly – as if it belonged to someone else, someone who had never really existed. Yes, Oliver had kissed her and they had gone on a date, but everything had somehow gone wrong and now he was gone, and there was an empty, hollow ache in her chest that had nothing at all to do with her injuries.

Felicity looked up to see Diggle watching her, concern etched on his features, and she knew then that she had to ask.

"Where's Oliver?"

Diggle sighed shakily and shook his head, and it was only when Felicity met his eyes that she began to feel truly afraid.

"John…"

Diggle ran a hand over his face, suddenly looking infinitely tired, and took a deep breath before he spoke.

"He just left, Felicity. He waited until he knew you were going to be ok, and then he just left." The look of regret and guilt on Diggle's face was so out of place that Felicity reached for him, placing her hand over his. He looked at her, eyes begging understanding and, frighteningly, forgiveness. "I couldn't stop him and I had to take care of you first."

Felicity swallowed, fighting back that panic that sought to overwhelm her as she looked at Diggle's face. Seeing him so torn about the choice he had made, she didn't want to imagine how Oliver had been when he had walked out of there.

"We just…," she shook her head, trying to clear away the drug-induced haze, "we just have to find him."

She moved to sit up and this time Diggle helped her, bracing her with a strong arm against her back.

"Roy's out looking for him now. We know that he's in either one of two places."

Felicity frowned for a second, and then the pieces fell into place.

"The Count…"

Ignoring the shiver that ran through her at the mention of that name, she reached for her tablet. But before she could strain herself Diggle got there first, plucking the small computer from the nearby desk and placing it into her outstretched hands. He hovered over her, as if he expected her to collapse at any moment.

"So it's either those offices on the east side of the Glades, or the warehouses near the docks," Felicity said, concentrating on speaking in even, measured breaths as she eyed the information they had already gathered on the new Count Vertigo's operation.

"Roy's gone to the warehouses..." Diggle supplied hesitantly.

"…so you should go to the offices," Felicity finished, holding up a hand when she felt Diggle take a breath to argue. "I'll be fine. I am fine. I'll stay here, and I'll be in constant contact with you over the comms. John, you have to find Oliver."

She watched him nod, relief crossing his face as he turned to leave, and she realised again what it had cost him to stay. He was halfway up the stairs when Felicity spoke.

"Oliver doesn't have his comm unit."

It wasn't a question but Diggle answered anyway, turning to look back at her. "I think, with you out, he didn't see the point, or…" He cut the statement short, punctuating it with a shrug.

Felicity glanced up sharply, eyes narrowed.

"Or what?"

There was the briefest hesitation, followed by a resigned sigh.

"Or maybe he didn't want anyone listening in, when he got to where he was going."

Felicity froze, feeling her short intake of breath answered by a sharp stabbing pain in her ribs. She held Diggle's gaze for a moment, and neither of them needed to voice what they were thinking.

"Go, John," she said finally.

He nodded grimly. "I'll find him."

And then he was gone, and Felicity was left alone in the Foundry. Her eyes fell on the torn, soot-stained red dress she still wore, and for a moment the full impact of what was happening hit her. She covered her face with her hands, shaking uncontrollably, each rattling breath sending waves of pain through her sides.

She didn't know how long she sat there, but eventually she shifted, levering herself off the med table and hobbling towards her chair. Moving hurt a lot more than she expected, but she knew there were more pressing problems right now. They had to find Oliver. Finally reaching her chair she collapsed into it with relief, fumbling a comm unit into her ear and clicking it on.

"Dig? Roy?"

Diggle's deep voice reverberated immediately in her ear.

"Felicity! I was worried."

"I'm ok, I was just… taking a minute."

Roy's voice followed quickly after, sounding tired and shaken.

"I'm glad you're alright, Felicity."

"Thanks, Roy. Are you at the offices?"

Even as she asked, she brought up their trackers on her screens.

"I just got here. The lights are out, security guard's outside, and the alarm is active." There was the slightest pause. "I don't think he's here."

"If he was there, you'd know it," Diggle said grimly.

Felicity bit back a response, focusing instead on Diggle's tracker moving closer to the docks.

Roy's voice came over the comms again, tight with tension. "I'm heading towards you now, Digg."

Felicity wondered if Roy had seen Oliver before he left, but realised it didn't matter. Deep down, they all knew what Oliver might do, and what he was capable of. She bit her lip, tasting dried blood, and wondered if Oliver had escaped the blast unhurt. She wished she could hear his voice.

The minutes stretched interminably as Felicity sat in silence before her screens, body rigid and fists clenched while she stared at the trackers blinking maddeningly on the screen in front of her. For once she didn't feel like talking, trusting that Diggle would be the one to break the silence when the time was right. Finally his voice crackled over the comms, and she held her breath.

"I'm at the warehouses… Oliver has definitely been here."

Felicity started, and instantly clutched her side in agony. The pain was getting worse. She ignored it, pressing the comms unit closer to her ear.

"Do you see him?"

There was a long pause, and then a stiff, strained reply.

"Not yet. Roy, how far away are you?"

"Ten minutes," came the curt response.

"John? What's happening?" Felicity asked, her pulse racing.

"Just… give me a minute, ok?"

There was an odd note to his voice and Felicity felt her heart sink. Would he tell her if Oliver was hurt? What if it was more serious than that? Her knuckles showed white through the skin of her clenched fists as she raised them to her mouth, breathing shallowly to keep herself from panicking and screaming down the comms for an answer.

"Oh God…"

Diggle's voice was barely above a whisper. Felicity snapped, unable to stay silent any longer.

"Diggle? What is it? Is Oliver…?"

"He's here. He's…" Another brief hesitation. "He's safe. Felicity, I'm going to turn off my comm now, alright? I need to talk to Oliver. Roy… just get here as fast as you can."

Before Felicity had a chance to respond the comm link went dead. She stared unseeingly at the screens in front of her, the silence settling around her as she struggled to process what was happening. And then, suddenly, she just couldn't anymore. She buried her face in her hands and sobbed, her ribs screaming as the tears ran unchecked down her cheeks.


	2. Chapter 2

Someone was screaming. The sound rang out loudly in the darkness, bouncing back and forth off the external metal walls of the warehouse. It resonated with terror; a harsh, agonized wailing. A small, distant part of Oliver wondered how the man had enough life left in him to scream, even as he focused on launching two arrows into the chest of the guard racing towards him. There was a slight sound behind him and he ducked instinctively, dropping to the ground and rolling as a metal bar swung towards the space where the back of his head had been. His fury rising, he swept outwards with his bow to take his attacker's legs from beneath him. The man fell with a thud and Oliver was on him in an instant, the small blackened knife in his hand almost invisible as it sliced across the guard's throat. The first man was still screaming, but this one died without a sound. Neither did anything to quell the rage that fuelled him.

A breeze ghosted across the yard, carrying with it the faintest hint of honeysuckle. Oliver froze, his thoughts suddenly subsumed by a memory of Felicity's lifeless body, bloody and still beneath the wreckage of the restaurant. He remembered picking her up, her honeysuckle perfume seeming incongruously delicate and feminine as he cradled her head against his chest. Oliver grimaced, his jaw clenching tightly, and turned his face into the breeze, half expecting to see her. But then running footsteps thudded across the concrete yard behind him and his head swung back, just in time to see the oncoming sentry raise his gun. Flipping the knife in his grip and catching it by the blade, he calmly, almost casually, flicked it towards the guard. The man crumpled with a soft sigh. Not bothering to watch his final moments Oliver turned away again, half expecting to catch the scent of honeysuckle, but it was gone. He shook his head, dispelling unwelcome thoughts, and then he was up and moving, leaving the bodies where they lay, a fresh arrow already nocked and drawn. He reached the doorway at the other side of the yard and forced it open with a kick, bow raised. The corridor on the other side was empty and he scowled, his eyes narrowing beneath his hood. They had to know he was here by now. He wanted them to know.

Oliver moved rapidly along the corridor, hesitating only briefly as he reached a corner. A harsh metallic clank rang out somewhere up ahead, even as a gust of wind swept past from a door being opened, the air fanning coolly across his face. He stopped short, his heart hammering in his chest. He could smell Felicity's perfume. He had thought he had imagined it earlier, but now, the sweet floral scent filling his nostrils, he knew that it was real. It clung to him somehow, a lingering breath of honeysuckle, sweeping gently across his senses. He closed his eyes for a second and it was as if Felicity were right there with him, just out of sight. He breathed deeper, wondering if the perfume was somehow mixed into the blood that still stained his chest. Her blood had soaked through his white dress shirt he remembered and, perhaps, into his skin. Oliver's jaw clenched even as something in his chest constricted. Felicity's blood mixed with her perfume. He wondered if he would carry her scent with him forever.

Anger rising in him again Oliver turned the corner, the arrow flying from his hand to the waiting sentry's throat faster than thought. The man's raised gun tumbled from his fingers as he choked and gagged, grappling desperately at his neck. The wind of the arrow's passage stirred Felicity's perfume towards him again and Oliver inhaled deeply, savouring her scent and holding the dying man's gaze as he sputtered and drowned in his own blood. He wondered if he'd see her if he turned but, this time, he didn't try.

Oliver waited until the guard stopped twitching, never once breaking his gaze. _Did you plant the bomb?_ he wanted to ask, the words poised on the tip of his tongue. He had wanted to ask that of the first man, and the second, and every other faceless thug he had dropped on his way through here. But, somehow, the question hadn't found his voice. He shrugged internally, watching the guard's eyes turn glassy and still. It didn't matter now. The cold air hit him again, and with it the scent of honeysuckle. For a moment he felt Felicity next to him, her breath against his neck and her voice murmuring faintly in his ear, even though he knew she was lying on the med table in the Foundry where he had left her, broken and bloody from the Count's bomb. His fingers tightened on his bow as he strode forward once more. He had lingered too long and Felicity was waiting.

Reaching the end of the corridor Oliver stopped, eyeing the closed door in front of him. He knew from Felicity's maps that a large room waited on the other side, probably a lab. Some instinctive sense told him they were waiting, grouped together on the other side of the door, drawing on each other for protection and, ultimately, courage. That made him smile briefly, but it was grim and devoid of humour. Nocking another arrow to his bow, Oliver wondered if someone on the other side of that door had planted the bomb. He didn't think he would get a chance to ask. Taking a deep breath he pictured Felicity as he had seen her last, allowing the image to fuel his anger even as the faint scent of honeysuckle ghosted around him. Then, with a jolt, he heard her voice in his ear, even though he knew he wasn't wearing a comm. It was like so many nights before, at once strong and fragile, tender and fierce, and his heart swelled with love for her. _Go,_ she whispered, her voice for his ears alone, _Kill them. Stop the Count. End this, once and for all._ He listened, because he always did.

The first fifteen seconds were a maelstrom of gunshots, ricocheting and clanging off metal tables and crates as Oliver burst through the door. He rolled to the side, taking shelter behind a tall stack of crates. There were a lot of them, more than he had expected. For the first time since he had left the Foundry, he felt something other than rage. It wasn't fear, simply… regret. He had had such hopes for Felicity and himself. He didn't want to die alone, far from her.

_You are not alone._

Her voice echoed through his mind, and he didn't need to smell her perfume to know that she was there. It was enough. A single arrow killed the lights and then he was moving, darting between benches and tables, picking off his targets as they struggled to distinguish friend from foe. But Oliver didn't have that problem. He was among them in an instant, every part of his body a weapon, every man he dropped another piece added towards his retribution. His fury was for the Count, but ultimately for himself. He should have protected her. He should have known better.

Oliver killed and killed, and none of it was enough. In the darkness, they all looked the same. In the darkness, it was all too easy for him to summon images of Felicity's face, the bloodstains on her beautiful dress, the dark bruises that marred her fair skin. No matter who he fought, his thoughts were of Felicity, and it was her voice in his thoughts that spurred him on.

He almost didn't notice the gunshot, and probably wouldn't have if it weren't for the sharp slice of pain that followed it, cutting across his left bicep and almost causing him to drop his bow. He didn't even have to look to know how close the bullet had come to his heart. Oliver dropped to the ground just as a second shot rang out, and heard the bullet slam into the wall behind his head. He rolled to the side before another shot was fired, and then he was up and charging his attacker, not giving him the chance to adjust his aim. Oliver swung wildly with his injured left arm, distracting the man as he jabbed upwards with his right. But the guard was quick and clever, evading both strikes easily and catching Oliver in the ribs with a well-timed knee. Oliver staggered backwards, his muscles absorbing most of the impact, and awkwardly blocked a punch aimed to the left side of his head. His injured arm caused his bow to slip from his numb fingers and he swore, hearing the discarded arrow rattle across the concrete. The second punch followed quickly after the first, and it was all Oliver could do to avoid being caught in its arc. By the time the third strike came, again on his left, his arm was so numb that he could barely lift it, and the strike landed like a hammer on the side of his head. He reeled, head spinning, that same sense of regret settling on him once more.

_I believe in you._

It was soft, but Oliver heard it. He smelled honeysuckle and felt the corners of his mouth tug upwards in a smile. Staggering a bit more, he bowed his head and watched his attacker approach from beneath his eyebrows, forcing himself not to react as the man's punch slammed down towards his face. Only at the last moment did he turn to absorb the blow, allowing it to land heavily on his shoulder. Still he hit the ground hard, the breath leaving his body as his fingers scrabbled across the concrete floor, searching desperately in the darkness. He felt his opponent standing over him at the exact moment his fingers found purchase, and forced himself to lie still when the man gripped his jacket and turned him over, his free hand tugging at Oliver's hood. He was close, so close that Oliver could smell his aftershave and the sharp metallic tang of fear-fuelled sweat. He was so close that it was easy for Oliver to raise his right hand and stab the arrow deep into the man's chest, easy for him to see his eyes widening in shock as realisation dawned. The man staggered backward, falling first to his knees and then onto his side, and Oliver followed him, never breaking his gaze. He knelt beside the guard, hands closing on the shaft of the arrow, and watched something like relief flood the dying man's eyes. Oliver thought of asking him if he had been the one to plant the bomb, but it didn't seem important anymore. Instead he gripped the arrow shaft and, rather than pushing it further in and ending the man's pain, he pulled it out, watching the guard's body shudder as his muscles contracted in agony. For a moment he hesitated, the bloodstained arrow still in his hands, and in his mind's eye he saw himself plunging the arrow deep into the man's chest over and over. He shook his head, standing up slowly and ignoring the guard's moans. That would be too merciful a death.

Oliver walked away, unopposed, and realised that he had no one else to fight. He grimaced, pausing in the middle of the room and acknowledging the fact that the Count was gone and his fury was unabated. Dim light filtered into the lab from a shattered window and he looked about him, at the upturned tables and shattered glass, and the fallen watchmen sprawled in awkward, unnatural positions. None of this had been enough and he realised he couldn't hear Felicity anymore. It was time to go home.

Shaking his head, Oliver turned towards the door, and bent down stiffly to pluck his bow from the floor. Straightening slowly, he caught sight of his reflection in a long, broken glass partition. A bullet had shattered it in the centre, sending fractures across the glass in all directions. They split his reflection, radiating outwards from his heart, dividing his face and chest in two. Beneath his hood, his eyes stood out starkly against the dark of his mask. He remembered the first time he had put it on or, in truth, when Felicity had done it for him. _How do I look?_ he had asked her. _Like a hero_, she had said, her eyes shining bright with her faith in him. Oliver watched his reflection smile in the cracked glass and inhaled deeply, catching the faintest scent of honeysuckle.

_How do I look?_ he asked her again.

This time, there was only silence.


End file.
